Called to account, he replied that it was
customary in these matters for his clients to advise him; thus deepening
Mahony's sense of obligation. Stabbed in his touchiness, he wrote for
all his scrip to be handed over to him; and thereafter loss and gain
depended on himself alone. It certainly brought a new element of variety
into his life. The mischief was, he could get to his study of the
money-market only with a fagged brain. And the fear lest he should do
something rash or let a lucky chance slip kept him on tenter-hooks.
It was about this time that Mary, seated one evening in face of her
husband, found herself reflecting: "When one comes to think of it, how
seldom Richard ever smiles nowadays."
For a wonder they were at a soiree together, at the house of one of
Mahony's colleagues. The company consisted of the inner circle of
friends and acquaintances: "Always the same people--the old job lot!
One knows before they open their mouths what they'll say and how they'll
say it," Richard had grumbled as he dressed. The Henry Ococks were not
there though, it being common knowledge that the two men declined to
meet; and a dash of fresh blood was present in the shape of a lady and
gentleman just "out from home." Richard got into talk with this couple,
and Mary, watching him fondly, could not but be struck by his animation.
His eyes lit up, he laughed and chatted, made merry repartee: she was
carried back to the time when she had known him first.
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